Frank Campbell - Bound Ankles

“I called Nigel. The detective is making no progress in finding that woman.” She cut at Donna’s bottom again.

The fact that Donna knew Jan was only taking out her anger and frustration on her did not make the pain any less but it did help her forgive her beloved mistress.

“They don’t think she’s from this country but that only makes it harder.” She cut Donna’s bottom three times in a row and Donna, despite her desire to hold it in, screamed into the gag.

In Jan’s pause, Pip asked quietly, “Mommy? Nigel can’t ask anything of that Mr. Kroff. But what about the other man who was there?”

“What?”

“The third buyer. Maybe he knows who the woman is. All three of them were talking together,”

Jan dropped the riding crop and stared at her daughter.

“Didn’t you tell the detective?”

“He didn’t ask me. I’m sorry if I did wrong.”

“Don’t worry, baby. Come on, we’ve got to talk to Nigel.” A dozen feet down the path, Jan stopped to look back at Donna. “Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere, Mommy,” said Pip. Jan nodded and they both sped down the path.

Donna whined into her gag. But this time it wasn’t only from the pain in her rear. It was because she wanted to be there if Nigel could do anything with this new information.

An hour later Jan and Pip returned. “Pip told Nigel all she could remember about the third buyer,” she said without preamble to the still bent over nudity. “He’s passing it on to the detective right now. Maybe...”

Pip untied Donna’s arms and took out the gag, All three of them walked back to the house, a strange mixture of hope and despair.

Donna was lounging on the couch in the den when the phone call came. As usual, she was naked and her wrists crossed and bound behind her back. In addition, that morning, she was wearing a pair of handcuffs locked around her slender ankles. They didn’t stop her from walking around the house but they certainly did slow her down and make her steps much smaller.

A few minutes later Jan came in holding a pad of paper and displaying the first smile Donna had seen on her face for a long time. “He thinks they’ve found her! She’s a Natasha Krishka. She lives in some country I’ve never heard of before, somewhere called Abacastan. Nigel wants us to meet him at the LA airport. Oh, Donna, maybe we can get Patsy back now!”

Donna would have jumped up and hugged her mistress but for the ropes preventing her hands from leaving their home behind her back. Instead she stood and allowed Jan to hug her.

“Pip! Pip!” called Jan. “Get packed! We’re leaving immediately!”

Thousands of miles from the joyous mother, her missing daughter was again suffering at the hands of her owner. This time the teenage girl was suspended near the ceiling of a stone room, spread-eagled with wrists and ankles locked in steel shackles that cut into her flesh. Patsy was naked as she had been every since being brought to his place of pain and suffering. She was face down with her limbs spread wide and taut. She had grown tired of trying to hold her head up and for the last hour had let it just hang. Her bottom and breasts were covered with whip marks in varying degrees of fading, showing clearly that this teenager girl had been whipped almost daily.

It took an effort to look up through her hanging hair when she heard the door creak open. Madam Natasha was standing there, once again dressed in her strange costume of a thin leather bikini and black high heel shoes. She also carried a black riding crop.

Patsy let her head hang down again.

“Why, my sweet little thing,” Madam Natasha cooed.

“You’re tired. Can’t sleep? Too bad. You know, one time I hung a man like this. In this very cell, in fact. I had a slave tie heavy weights to his penis and listened to him scream and plead. He hung like that for seven days before he died.” She flicked Patsy’s left nipple with the tip of the riding crop. “He stopped screaming after the first day. Pity.”

She slashed the black leather horror across both nipples. Patsy gasped and jerked.

“I could leave you here to see if you could last longer than he did. I could even tie weights to your nipples. That would stretch them all out of shape, right?” She took one sore nipple between thumb and forefinger and pulled until Patsy cried out. “I could even have them weave a rope into your pubic hair and hang weights from that. But they might all pull out. What an interesting way to pluck the hairs from a girl’s pussy!”

Madam Natasha walked around until she stood between Patsy’s wide spread legs. Patsy tensed up. But the dark haired woman only tapped the crop against Patsy’s pussy. “When I was a teenage girl, perhaps a little younger than you, I was sold by my parents to a brothel,” she said. “I was being used several times a day by men, and when I was not being used, I was kept locked in a cell with three other girls. If we didn’t obey, we were tortured. My country is old and very experienced in the ways of punishing a slavegirl. It is almost an art form here. I was once hung like you are. For a whole day and night I hung in chains. I was naked, like you, and I was whipped. As you have been. On the dawn of the second day I was let down and immediately taken to the front chambers where a man was waiting to use me. I fainted but he finished his business and left me lying there.”

She cut a stroke squarely between Patsy’s legs. Patsy cried out and her body went stiff for a couple seconds. “Don’t worry, that was not nearly as hard as I could do it.” She continued with her story as if the interruption for that little bit of pain hadn’t even occurred. “I spent a year in that brothel, whorehouse, I think you American’s would call it. Then I escaped. It was good to be free but there was no place I could go. My parents would only return me. Or sell me to another place. At another village, I would probably only be made another wife in the harem of the chief. In the cities I would only be arrested and returned to those who owned me. In this country, prostitution is legal. And the central government only gives lip service to the abolishment of slavery. Once you are away from the one big city we have, there are slaves. Slaves, usually young girls, in brothels, and harems. Girls bought and sold like cattle every day. There is much wealth in my country but also much poverty. The wealth is in the hands of a few. I starved for a while until I found a man who would take me in. He used me as other men did but at least he was kind to me. The food was good and I didn’t have to sleep in a cage with two other girls.”

Madam Natasha paused, remembering her earlier life. “One day I saw a very big car drive through our village. In it was a rich man. All bowed down to him. In his car were two woman, beautiful women, with costly silks and veils to hide their faces. They wore golden chains from their wrists to another around their waist. But the chains were thin and long enough to cause no restriction. They were a symbol, I realized. That man drove on after his business was finished. But I made a vow that I was going to become one of those few rich people in this country.”

She paused again as she walked around to stand under Patsy’s head. She pushed up on Patsy’s forehead with the riding crop so she could look into her eyes. “I got that man who was kind to me to marry me. He was old and had no wives and his two sons had been killed in the fighting of one of the periodic rebellions in the southern provinces. He was old... No one suspected when he died. I got all his property for there was no male sons to give it to. No one knew I had poisoned him.

“I started a brothel of my own. It was the only business I knew. At first there was only me but I found another girl who had also run away from a brothel. I gave her a home. She still lay with men but she slept with me at night and in a comfortable bed. Then there were other girls. I moved to a town not far from the big city. Lot’s of rich men would drive out for an evenings fun. And I found out that men loved to whip women. So I made sure that any man who wanted would find a girl he could whip before impaling her on his shaft. Of course, the richest simply bought their own slavegirls and whipped them to their heart’s delight in their own homes. But there were plenty who could not afford their own slavegirl and sought their pleasure at my place. Strange, isn’t it, that men find so exciting our pain. It makes their sex more intense.” She paused again and smiled the only smile that Patsy had ever seen her exhibit. “Stranger still is that it makes us woman more exited, too. Sex while your back and ass are covered with fresh whip marks is... special.”